Religare
by goddesscal
Summary: Seriously ill and trapped behind the walls of Arkham City with no way out, Bruce Wayne will have to rely on his greatest enemy to survive. Slash.


**Religare**

**Pairing: **Bruce Wayne/Joker  
**Summary**: Seriously ill and trapped behind the walls of Arkham City with no way out, Bruce Wayne will have to rely on his greatest enemy to survive.

**A/N:** This is a work in progress with all that entails and my first foray into the Batman universe. I have taken scenes and dialogue from Arkham City the video game and altered things to suit my own purpose, mixing the game characters and those from the Nolanverse. I was absolutely enthralled by the subtext in the games and this idea just would not let go.  
**Warnings: **Eventual slash. Don't like; don't read.

**Spoilers: **Arkham City, TDK, TDKR

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them; not making any money from this.

"The only way to make a man trustworthy is to trust him." ~Henry L. Stimson

**Wayne Manor**

Bruce Wayne lifted his chin and fastened the last button on his freshly pressed shirt. Eyeing his own reflection, he ran a hand through his hair, smoothing a few errant strands back into place. Satisfied with his appearance, he turned and crossed the room to where his breakfast waited. The morning paper, neatly folded beside the pristine silverware, caught his attention with its bold lettered headline.

_**Gotham's New Super-Prison: A Disaster Waiting to Happen?  
Billionaire Bruce Wayne speaks today.**_

He grimaced, picking up the tall glass of fresh juice and gulping it down in seconds.

"Here you are, sir."

"Thanks, Alfred." Bruce took the offered cufflinks and set the now empty glass back onto the tray. The cufflinks were one of the few things which had belonged to his father to have survived the fire because he'd been wearing them. Draping a matching tie around his neck, the billionaire turned back to the mirror to finish dressing. He had one cuff in place and fastened when the other tumbled out of his hand. Bending down to find it, Bruce uttered a low curse when his nose began to run. He sighed, straightening back up empty handed and digging into his pocket for a handkerchief. Alfred calmly stepped forward and retrieved the lost cufflink from its position on the floor then handed it to him.

"Thank you, Alfred." Bruce repeated, wiping his nose while trying not to notice how closely the older man was regarding him.

"Are you quite certain that you must attend this press conference, Master Wayne?"

The billionaire waved a hand in the air dismissively and stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket.

"It's just a little cold and I _have_ to go. Someone has to do something to stop this." He gestured towards the offending paper. "Arkham City is a menace and those patients aren't receiving the care they need."

"Those criminals you mean, sir," Alfred remarked lightly as he folded down the top sheet of the barely disturbed bed. Bruce had spent the previous night patrolling the city. Upon returning, he had remained in the cave until the early hours of morning, lost in research as well as in preparation for the speech that he was going to give later that day.

The corner of the billionaire's mouth curved slightly upwards at his friend's candor, and he couldn't repress a snort of unfettered laughter which alarmingly morphed into a full blown hacking cough that the Wayne heir weakly attempted to cover up behind the curtain of his hand.

"Criminal or not," he said when he was able to speak again. "No one deserves to live like that. It's inhumane. Plus, it's a hazard to the city."

"Indeed."

Alfred was watching him again. Bruce cleared his throat uneasily and avoided the others piercing gaze. He finished tying his tie, feeling concerned eyes boring into his back the entire time. Bruce then returned to the previously ignored food which had been prepared for him, and dutifully chose a small piece of toast. Taking a tentative bite, he chewed mechanically, but the taste was no more appealing to his tense stomach than corrugated cardboard and the billionaire quickly put it down, wiping his hands off.

"You have been overdoing it lately if you don't mind my saying so, Master Bruce," Alfred sniffed, having finished with the bed, coming up beside him. The displeasure in his butler's voice was unmistakable. "And it sounds to me like you might have _more_ than just a common cold."

"It has to be shut down, Alfred," Bruce answered him firmly with a quiet determination the other had come to expect with all its stubbornness. Of all people, Alfred was among the few that knew nothing would stop Bruce Wayne once his mind was set on doing it. He shrugged into his matching jacket and picked up the heavy overcoat he would need for the cold weather.

Unsurprised Alfred nodded, "Yes, of course, I figured you would say that." The old man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small packet. "Here you are sir."

Puzzled, Bruce glanced down then felt gratitude well within him at the sight of the pills in his palm. He opened the package and promptly downed them with the glass of water from his breakfast tray. Sparing one last glance into the dressing mirror to make sure that he was camera ready, Bruce grabbed the Lamborghini keys from the tray and strode to the door, stopping halfway through hand on the ornate door frame. He turned back with a long look at his mentor.

"Alfred… thank you. Sometimes I don't know what I would do without you."

The billionaire flashed a brief uncomfortable smile and left.

Alfred silently stared at the spot his ward had just vacated a worried frown embedded deep in his forehead.

**Arkham City Main Gate**

Waiting for the signal to take his place at the makeshift podium, Bruce stood beneath the hastily erected tent, hands stuffed deeply into his pockets for warmth. A bitter wind was blowing through Gotham, bringing with it the beginnings of winter as well as a light dusting of snow - early for this time of year, but not completely unwelcome. The colder it was, the less crime he had to deal with, usually. Shifting his weight to alleviate the ever-present ache in his knee, Bruce politely declined the fourth offer to get him something to drink. He'd already taken a coffee from the overeager worker, who'd blushed scarlet when he'd spoke to her then scurried away afterwards, putting her head together with a girlfriend. It sent the young women into further histrionics when he'd casually leaned against the tent pole and gave them a sly wink while displaying his most flirtatious smile.

The playboy persona fooled them as easily as it did everyone else, hiding the inner turmoil that were his true thoughts. Bruce sighed inwardly as he watched them. Sometimes it just got old… pretending to be something that he was not. But the subterfuge was necessary if he wanted to keep his secret. He worked very hard to convince everyone he was something that he was not.

Inhaling deeply, the Wayne heir turned away from the still giggling women, eyes lifting to the high perimeter walls of the prison just outside.

Arkham City was the Mayor's controversial new project. Having deemed both Blackgate and Arkham Asylum unsuitable to be containment facilities, Sharp had purchased several abandoned waterfront districts and then converted them into one immense open-air prison, surrounding the entire thing with an electrified perimeter fence. All the prisoners had systematically been relocated to the new one, resulting in a union that was nothing less than a political nightmare.

Once inside, inmates were allowed to roam freely about the grounds…unless any attempt were made to escape. Heavily armed security guards patrolled the grounds by helicopter only intervening when absolutely necessary. This meant quite literally that the prisoners' lives were in their own hands. Rumors abounded of violent uncurbed fighting that was turning Arkham City into a bloody battleground while psychiatric treatment for the ones who so desperately needed it was nonexistent. While gathering information on the new prison, Bruce had been surprised, angered, and very concerned to learn about the lack of a hierarchy within the closed walls. The mix was volatile- a powder keg waiting to explode.

How Mayor Sharpe or the city of Gotham had allowed such a thing to be created within their midst was beyond him. This had been the plan for a better, safer Gotham? Surely, someone had realized the inevitable outcome of such a risky venture? Nevertheless, Sharpe wasn't talking to the press or anyone else, most likely trying to avoiding the political fallout of such a bad decision.

Jim Gordon, on the other hand, had made his position on the matter very clear, publicly opposing the idea of a "super-prison" from the beginning. But Gordon's protests had done little to hinder the Mayor's plan. Bruce idly fiddled with the change in his pockets, dark eyes searching the crowd for Gotham's commissioner. There was no sign of him. He must not have arrived yet the Wayne heir decided, remembering his visit to the station earlier that week. Gordon had been surprised, to say the least, when the billionaire had suggested using his pull with the media to urge people into taking action against the new prison.

It was out of character for Bruce to be assertive about anything that wasn't wearing a pair of high heeled shoes and lipstick, but what was occurring in Gotham now was too important for him to stay out of. It was something Batman could never have done, but Bruce Wayne could. Arkham City was completely unethical in any sense of the word and it had to be stopped. If the masses of Gotham could be reached, he might be able to rally them enough to get the prison shutdown. The billionaire found that worth the enormous risk that he was taking with the involvement of his passive playboy persona in hopes of drawing more public attention to the issue.

Surveying the bustling scene outside of the tent, Bruce sneezed and pulled his heavy winter jacket closer, glad for the warmth. He was pleased to count at least five film cameras and several reporters clustered around them. Every moment of the speech that he was about to give would be broadcast live on all channels besides dominating all headlines the next day. Being Gotham's favorite son had its advantages. A hand on his shoulder nearly startled him.

"Mr. Wayne? They're ready for you."

Bruce nodded his thanks and with a last broad smile and wink to the young women still gazing at him appreciatively, stepped out into the crowd. Cameras immediately began flashing in his face, brightly illuminating the entire area. All eyes were focused on him as he swaggered confidently towards the podium. Keeping one hand in his pocket, Bruce waved to the crowd with the other some of the conversation taking place around him reaching his ears.

Most were curious as to why he had taken an interest in politics. It didn't overly concern him to hear such speculation. The speech that he had prepared would easily explain it away. For good measure, the Wayne heir took his time, flashing his best playboy grin, and pausing to flirt outrageously with the female reporters- all in full view of the cameras. Reaching the podium, Bruce grasped at its edges to steady himself. However, as the young billionaire looked out over the crowd and into the eyes of the people he had worked so hard to protect, he hesitated.

He couldn't shake the feeling that it should have been Harvey Dent standing here, not him. More than three years after his death, and the city still reeled from the man's absence. Dent belonged in exactly this type of political situation, had thrived on it even. In the end, Harvey had changed into the very thing he stood against lost in his bitterness and pain, but these people knew nothing of the twisted thing that Dent had become. They loved him unconditionally. Long felt remorse filled Bruce anew for the loss of a man who had been the face of Gotham's justice - a man who could have eventually ended his own crusade hidden behind a mask.

"Forgive me," he finally spoke realizing that people were beginning to look at him oddly. not attempting to hide the note of sadness which colored his voice. "I was just thinking that it should be Harvey Dent up here. Not me. He was… a hero to many."

The crowd murmured its assent and Bruce paused a moment more before forcing himself to refocus on the matter at hand.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen… and now the reason we are here." He stabbed a finger towards the high stacked concrete block behind him expression grim. "Imprisoned behind these walls, gang leaders are fighting a bloody war in the middle of our once- great city. Now, I ask you my friends. How can this be safe for the people of Gotham? "

Open interest reflected back at him from the faces in the crowd, encouraged by the response, Bruce took another long breath before continuing.

"I'm starting the campaign to close Arkham City for good and make Gotham safe again-"

The loud rhythmic whop-whop from the engine of an approaching helicopter and subsequent blast of air from the blades drowned out the rest of what he was about to say. At first, the billionaire wasn't alarmed. He figured that it was merely more press covering the event from the air above perhaps a bit overzealous in their excitement to get the best image. It took merely seconds after the ropes trickled down followed by heavily armed guards hefting around smoke grenades that Bruce quickly realized that something was very, very wrong.

_What the…? _

Incredulous, he was still marveling at the unexpected and brazen display when he was promptly surrounded guns leveled directly at his head.

"Hands in the air, Wayne!"

Slowly the billionaire complied, eyeing the men warily There was nothing he could do to fight back especially with live cameras rolling, better to wait and find out what they wanted.

"We've got Wayne!" One shouted into his communicator and Bruce had but a moment to wonder who he was speaking to before the butt of an automatic rifle smashed into his temple and everything went black.


End file.
